The Return of Solange
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: What REALLY happened when Tattoo left Fantasy Island? Follows 'Ghost of a Chance'.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is based on the episode of 2/28/1981, the story arc entitled "Portrait of Solange". In this story, a dancing troupe arrived from Paris, and Roarke gave Tattoo the opportunity to paint them as a birthday gift. Tattoo subsequently fell in love with one of the dancers (played by Elissa Leeds), but she had to leave the island; and Tattoo, having painted her portrait, kept it as a reminder of her. On the series, Tattoo's abrupt disappearance was never explained; so I saw the chance to bring back someone who had been very special to him. Like my first Fantasy Island story, this one is dedicated to the memory of Hervé Villechaize.  
  
§ § § -- May 7, 1983  
  
Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie met as always on the front porch of the main house, preparatory to greeting their weekend guests, but Tattoo was a few minutes late. When he did appear, both Leslie and Roarke stared at him. "Is something the matter?" Roarke asked him.  
  
"Matter?" echoed Tattoo with a too-innocent expression. "What could possibly be the matter? Nothing, of course."  
  
"Ha," said Leslie suspiciously. "Something's up."  
  
"Would you kindly put us out of our misery," suggested Roarke with a teasing smile, "and tell us what it is."  
  
But Tattoo simply smiled broadly. "Oh no, not yet. You'll have to wait and see. Come on, or else we're all gonna be late."  
  
The day was bright as always, another in the endless parade of gorgeous tropical days on Fantasy Island; the warm breeze teased Leslie's long hair and lifted Tattoo's thick black hair as well. He was still wearing that smirk as Roarke called for smiles and motioned the band into action, and continued holding it through the introduction of the weekend's first fantasy. Leslie was beginning to think he was demented, and even Roarke exhibited a tinge of annoyance.  
  
"Well, are you gonna tell us your secret or not?" Leslie finally demanded.  
  
Roarke had been watching the dock, and now he did a double-take at sight of the lithe, petite blonde woman who disembarked. "Tattoo! That's Solange Latignon, isn't it?"  
  
"That's precisely who it is," Tattoo confirmed, beaming now. "Solange and I kept in touch after the Traditional Dance Company of Paris left the island a couple of years ago."  
  
"Does she have a fantasy?" Leslie asked.  
  
"Solange and I have the same fantasy," Tattoo said softly, dark eyes fixed on Solange. "She just transferred to a local Parisian dance troupe, but they don't start performing for awhile yet, so she has some free time right now. She wrote me and asked if she might come and visit me for a vacation, and I told her of course she could. So now here she is."  
  
"I'm glad she's back," Leslie said. "She was so nice."  
  
Roarke had been staring at Tattoo in amazement all this time; now Tattoo looked at him and made a gesture at the Polynesian girl who stood waiting in front of him with his customary drink. "Boss, you're forgetting something," Tattoo prompted gently.  
  
Roarke blinked, turned and instantly assumed his usual pleasant expression, lifting his glass to his new guests; Tattoo smiled more than ever. Leslie, for her part, was so caught off guard by Tattoo's overly sunny mood and Roarke's uncharacteristic loss of poise that she completely forgot to ask Tattoo exactly what his and Solange's mutual fantasy was.  
  
"Well, good morning, Solange!" Roarke said warmly, very much the gracious host once more, when she came in from the front porch of the main house. "I must admit, Tattoo gave us no advance notice that you were coming here."  
  
Solange, a lovely girl whose English was as perfect as her French, grinned at him. "That's Tattoo for you. No doubt he wanted to surprise you." She smiled at Leslie. "Hi, Leslie. Tattoo tells me you just celebrated your eighteenth birthday."  
  
Leslie nodded, going a bit pink. "Yeah, Tattoo gave me an absolutely beautiful painting of his childhood home in the springtime. That makes three of his originals I own now. I told him he shouldn't be so generous, but he wouldn't listen to me."  
  
"Oh, you should treasure his work," Solange said. "He's always putting things in his letters to me. He decorates every page with a line drawing, and sometimes he adds a little color to them."  
  
"I understand from Tattoo that you are no longer with the Traditional Dance Company of Paris," remarked Roarke, gesturing at a chair. Solange smiled her thanks and took a seat.  
  
"That's right, Mr. Roarke. I decided to dance with the new Moulin Rouge Revival company; that way I can stay in one place. I think I've just about had my fill of living out of suitcases."  
  
Roarke chuckled. "That's quite understandable. Well, Tattoo should be back from his rounds in a few moments; I'm afraid Leslie and I have a prior appointment to keep. If you like, you might stay and wait for Tattoo; he shouldn't be very long."  
  
"Thank you, I will." Solange settled herself in her seat.  
  
"Very well. Come along, Leslie, we certainly don't want to be late." With a last smile at Solange, Roarke rounded the desk and started out; and Leslie grabbed up a white silk bag before hastening after him.  
  
"I wish you'd tell me what's in this," Solange heard her say as they headed out the door.  
  
"You'll see, Leslie," Roarke replied patiently. "Just make sure you don't drop that bag, and don't let go of the top by any means..." The door closed on his last words, and Solange chuckled to herself, leaning back in her chair and listening dreamily to the birds making their usual cacophony in the nearby trees.  
  
She had to wait only a few minutes before the door opened and Tattoo came in. "_Bonjour_, Tattoo!" she said, her face alight.  
  
"Solange, _chérie! Bonjour et bienvenu_!" exclaimed Tattoo joyfully, rushing to her. They hugged each other hard and even shared a long kiss before pulling back enough to get a good look at each other. Since they were alone, they continued to speak in French.  
  
"You haven't changed at all -- you're exactly as I remember you!" said Solange happily. "Oh, Tattoo, I'm so glad to see you again!"  
  
"It's wonderful to see you too," Tattoo agreed. "You're more beautiful than ever, Solange. I've missed you very much."  
  
Solange brightened. "Do you know how glad I am to hear that? Every day without you has seemed like a year."  
  
Tattoo nodded. "For me too. Your letters helped keep me going. What did you think of my last one?"  
  
Solange blushed. "I wasn't sure you meant it. I mean, I know you did, but I was so afraid I was dreaming..."  
  
Tattoo clasped his hands behind his back and slowly paced the floor nearby. "I wasn't entirely sure you'd actually come here, in all honesty. I didn't know what you'd think or how you'd react...and at the same time, I desperately needed to know your answer. Listen, the boss told me that once I finished my rounds this morning, I could have the rest of the day to myself. Let me show you around the island, and we'll talk and just enjoy each other's company. We can leave the serious stuff for later, okay?"  
  
"Sounds great to me," Solange agreed. She beamed and took his hand. "Come on, let's go."

§ § §  
  
By that evening Leslie was visibly exhausted from the day's events, but the fantasies were well under way and she and Roarke could take a rest for the night. It was getting late; Tattoo had been out all day, and they were waiting for him.  
  
Leslie, who had been reading one of her favorite books, suddenly emitted a long yawn. Roarke cast her an indulgent look. "Don't you think you'd better go to bed, Leslie? You've had rather a long day, and I suspect Tattoo will be quite late. He may not even stop here before he returns to his cottage for the night."  
  
She looked up a little sheepishly. "Guess you're right. I'm starting to fall asleep right here in my chair." She got to her feet and stretched before slipping a bookmark into the book. "Well, good night, Mr. Roarke."  
  
"Good night, Leslie," murmured her guardian. "Incidentally, you might as well sleep late tomorrow morning. I won't need any assistance until about ten, so take a little extra time if you wish."  
  
"Okay, thanks, Mr. Roarke." Leslie trudged up the stairs, yawning again on the way. Roarke smiled after her before returning his attention to some long-neglected paperwork. He always enjoyed the quiet of an evening and often used it to concentrate on a particularly difficult fantasy; or, if things were routine, to clear some of the ever-present papers from his desk. The exquisite grandfather clock near the steps ticked softly on; now and then a gentle breeze wafted through the open French doors behind Roarke's desk. The night grew more than half an hour older before the door finally opened and Tattoo came in.  
  
Roarke looked up. "Well," he said mildly, "and how was your day?"  
  
Tattoo, seemingly lost in thought, looked up, startled. "Oh, hi, boss. I thought you'd be asleep by now, and I just came in to turn out the light."  
  
"Leslie is asleep," Roarke said, "but I decided I should put the time to good use." He indicated the papers, and Tattoo smiled in understanding. "I trust you enjoyed your time with Solange, my friend?"  
  
"Oh, very much, boss, very much." Tattoo couldn't seem to meet Roarke's gaze. "We talked a lot, had a picnic, went sightseeing...really did a lot of exploring."  
  
"Of more than one kind, perhaps?" Roarke probed gently.  
  
Tattoo focused abruptly on Roarke and sighed, as though resigned. "You never miss anything, do you, boss?" he remarked a bit ruefully. Roarke merely smiled. "Yes, okay, we did do a lot of soul-searching. I suppose you could call that exploring." He paused, as if in consideration, and Roarke waited patiently. At last Tattoo looked up and asked hesitantly, "Have you ever heard of anyone who fell in love through writing letters?"  
  
Roarke sat back and cleared his throat. "I can't say that I personally know anyone to whom this has happened; but it's not unheard-of for such a thing to occur."  
  
Tattoo peered at Roarke. "Well," he said, "now you do know someone it's happened to."  
  
"Indeed?" was all Roarke said to that.  
  
Tattoo shrugged. "Actually, it was already there when we first met a couple of years ago. I don't think we ever actually said it then, in so many words, but we both knew it was there. And things got more intense as we exchanged letters, got to know each other better. So now that Solange is here, we knew it was the best time for us to really talk and find out how things stand, once and for all." Roarke nodded in a sort of _go-on_ gesture, and Tattoo took a deep breath or two before meeting Roarke's gaze directly. "So...I asked Solange to marry me, and she said yes."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- May 7, 1983  
  
Roarke's dark eyes widened. "Why, congratulations, Tattoo!"  
  
Tattoo actually blushed, and looked away again. "We'd be honored if you'd perform the marriage ceremony, boss, and Solange already promised that Leslie can be the maid of honor..." His voice trailed off, and Roarke sensed at that moment that the young Frenchman was holding something back.  
  
"Tattoo, something is wrong, isn't it? I know you're not telling me everything, so out with it," Roarke said, trying to gently tease it out of his assistant.  
  
A pained expression bloomed on Tattoo's features, and he was clearly struggling with the words. "I won't make Solange stop dancing," he said. "That's her whole life. And I'm doing pretty well with my paintings, you know that...and I haven't seen my family in ages." He became aware then that Roarke was watching him expectantly, and finally sighed. "There's no easy way to say it. But you see, when Solange and I are married, I'll be leaving."  
  
Something in Roarke had sensed this coming; but it was a shock to hear it all the same. "Leave Fantasy Island?" he breathed, just above a whisper. Tattoo had been his assistant for something like a quarter-century now, and he had grown so accustomed to Tattoo's presence that it had seemed as though he would always be there. But Roarke could not begrudge his friend the happiness he'd found.  
  
"I hate to do it, boss," Tattoo said. His eyes, while dry, seemed lost in memories. "These have been the best years of my whole life. I've always loved my job here, and no one else in the world has ever been a better friend to me than you. You've always encouraged me and given me the sense that I was worth just as much as any other man. Solange...Solange makes me feel that way too. She sees the me inside...not the me that everyone else sees at first glance. She doesn't see the short guy running around leering at the girls." Tattoo quirked a sheepish smile in response to Roarke's amused expression. "She sees the painter, she sees a human being. She sees my soul."  
  
Roarke leaned forward now in his chair, resting his elbows on the desktop, interlacing his fingers and studying Tattoo with a wistful look. "While I would be very glad to have you stay on, my friend, I want you to know that first and foremost, you must follow your heart. And if your heart takes you with Solange and away from Fantasy Island, then that is how it must be. But don't assume that the best part of your life has come to an end. You're marrying a woman you love very deeply, and perhaps one day you and she will be parents. There is nothing in the world to say that your future can't be any happier than your time on Fantasy Island has been. I wish you and Solange all the happiness you both so richly deserve."  
  
Tattoo swallowed so thickly it sounded clearly in the quiet study. Head hanging, he murmured, "I'm glad you understand, boss. Thank you."  
  
Roarke cast a glance ceilingward and asked gently, "How will you break the news to Leslie?"  
  
Tattoo's head came up all at once, his face startled; clearly he had completely forgotten about Leslie. Since Leslie's arrival on the island, she and Tattoo had grown quite close. They regarded each other rather like a close-knit uncle and niece, and Tattoo had noticed that she seemed actually a little more open with him than she was with Roarke, who still inspired a certain awe in her. "I didn't think of that," Tattoo said slowly. "She's going to be really upset. She told me once that she wanted to stay here on the island forever so that she didn't lose any more people she loved. And now look, I'm planning to leave."  
  
"I daresay Leslie should be able to adjust well enough," Roarke said dryly. "She's almost grown now and about to finish high school. Change is as inevitable here on the island as anywhere else on this earth."  
  
Tattoo shook his head. "It was hard enough telling you. I dread telling Leslie."  
  
Roarke gazed intensely at him. "My friend, if this is your fantasy, then you have every right to have it granted to you. It will be difficult for Leslie to accept in the beginning; she cares deeply for you. I believe she regards you as the uncle she never had. But I truly believe she will understand."  
  
"I hope so," Tattoo said and sighed again. "I suppose on that note, I'd better get home."  
  
Roarke nodded and arose from his desk. "I may as well retire myself." He watched Tattoo trudge for the door, looking surprisingly dispirited for a man who was preparing to marry the love of his life, and smiled slightly. "She will understand, my friend, trust me," he said.  
  
Tattoo glanced back at him and nodded once. "Good night, boss."  
  
§ § § -- May 8, 1983  
  
Leslie came downstairs about nine-thirty the next morning, and to her surprise found something of a crowd in the study. Roarke was seated at the desk; Julie MacNabb and Solange each sat in a club chair; and Tattoo stood beside Solange's chair. They were all clearly involved in a lively discussion.  
  
"Is this a private party, or am I invited too?" Leslie asked with a grin, pausing at the foot of the stairs.  
  
Their reactions were distinctly unusual, to say the least. As one, all four of them whipped their heads around to stare at her; even Roarke looked a bit startled. Then, as if cued, they chorused much too brightly, "Good morning, Leslie!"  
  
She laughed. "Did I scare you? What's the big congregation all about, anyway?"  
  
Solange and Tattoo looked at each other; Julie shifted in her seat, her overly expressive young face a study in discomfort. Roarke's features had returned to their usual calm, although he seemed quite solemn.  
  
The silence stretched and Leslie frowned in apprehension. Solange watched Tattoo; Roarke watched all of them; Julie turned red; and Tattoo fidgeted to the point that he appeared to have a nervous tic.  
  
"Something's going on," Leslie said, her tone stating that she wanted to be in on whatever it was, without further delay.  
  
"It won't get any easier for waiting, _mon chér_," Solange told Tattoo gently.  
  
"She's right, my friend," Roarke concurred with an encouraging smile.  
  
Julie suddenly cleared her throat so loudly that the others all stared at her. She blinked, wrapped a hand around her throat and said, "I think this is where I bow out. Nobody needs me for anything else, right? So I better get back and start helping Frida with housekeeping duties." Her voice cracked toward the end of this rapid little speech, so that the phrase _housekeeping duties_ came out as a pained-sounding croak. "Ow," Julie muttered and made herself scarce before anyone could stop her.  
  
"I think she tore her throat out from clearing it," Leslie remarked a little sardonically, taking Julie's vacated chair. "There's something you guys aren't telling me, and I want to know, because it doesn't look like it's going to be good news and I just want to get it over with."  
  
"But it is good news," Roarke said. "Why don't you tell her, Tattoo? As for myself, I have some duties to attend to. Tattoo, Solange." With a nod at them, he exited.  
  
Tattoo shot a pleading glance at Solange, and she smiled, as though taking pity on him. "Mr. Roarke's right, Leslie. It's definitely good news. Tattoo and I are going to be married."  
  
Leslie's features lit up like a neon sign. "Really?" she squealed. "Oh wow, that's fantastic! Now it'll be like I have an aunt too!" She lunged out of her chair to bestow a hug on the surprised Solange, who laughed and hugged her back. Leslie then turned to hug Tattoo as well, but he stepped back and refused to meet her gaze.  
  
Leslie planted her hands on her hips and glared impatiently at him. "I wish you'd just tell me what's wrong," she said. "This feels like a good-news-bad-news situation, and now it's time for the bad news, right?"  
  
Finally Tattoo looked up at her. "Sit down, Leslie, please," he requested painfully. "I don't know how else to tell you, so I guess I should say it straight out. Leslie, when Solange and I are married, I'm leaving Fantasy Island, to live with her in Paris." Having spoken, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned toward Solange, who wrapped her hand around his in reassurance.  
  
The news, so bluntly delivered, stunned Leslie into utter silence for what seemed like the rest of the day. Solange gazed at her with enormous sympathy; as Leslie struggled to absorb this, her speechlessness stretched out long enough that Tattoo risked glancing at her. His heart went out to her and he reached out and placed both hands on her forearm. "I'm sorry, Leslie."  
  
"Do...do you really have to leave?" Leslie asked, childlike, tears already filling her eyes. "I had no idea that getting married would make you leave here. I always figured I'd get to babysit your kids someday and you'd still work for Mr. Roarke and..." Her voice gave out.  
  
"I can't," Tattoo said with a soft sigh. "Leslie, Solange is a born dancer, and I can't ever take that away from her. I'd never, ever make her stop doing something she loved so much. She's with the Moulin Rouge classical revival now in Paris, and she's going to be the best one in the show." Behind him, Solange smiled and rolled her eyes. "I love Fantasy Island, you know that. Don't ever think I didn't enjoy my stay here even for a second. The boss has always been the best possible friend in the world. And you..." Tattoo's voice broke for a moment; he cleared his throat and plowed doggedly on. "I think of you as my adopted niece. If you ever do leave Fantasy Island, I want you to know you will always, _always_ be welcome in our home. If a day comes that you have nowhere else to go on this earth, come to us, and we'll take you in, I promise you that."  
  
"That goes for me too, Leslie," Solange said softly. "You'll always have a home with us if you ever need it."  
  
Without warning Leslie broke down into tears, and Solange and Tattoo shed a few of their own. After a few moments of indulging themselves, Tattoo managed to get control over his emotions and gently prodded Leslie in the arm with one blunt finger. "Come on, Leslie, that's enough now." He smiled slyly when she lifted a tear-streaked face to him. "I had no idea the thought of living in Paris meant that much to you."  
  
"In that case, you're just going to have to be patient with me when you teach me to speak French," Leslie shot back unexpectedly, and they all laughed, a little shakily, but relieved that the worst was over now. "So what was Julie doing over here?"  
  
"She'll be catering the wedding," Solange told her. "Tattoo and I had dinner last evening at her bed-and-breakfast inn, and that girl is an amazing cook for one so young. That's what decided us to have her cater the whole affair. And Leslie, I want you to be my maid of honor. I don't have any sisters, and I'm not very close to any of the friends I have in the dance company. Since I'm taking Tattoo away from here, I thought it was only fair that you have a part in the wedding and not be left out."  
  
"Don't say it like that," Leslie protested, raking her hair back from her face. "You'll come back to visit, won't you, if you can? And maybe one of these days I'll come visit you in Paris. And I know you'll stay in touch." She affected an exaggerated scowl. "You better, or I'll come beat you both up."  
  
"A fate worse than death for sure," Tattoo retorted with a grin. "So are you gonna be in the wedding or not?"  
  
"Well, how could I pass up an elegant invitation like that?" Leslie teased him back. "Of course I will. When's the big day going to be?"  
  
"Next weekend," Solange said and giggled when Leslie's blue eyes popped. "I know, it's very short notice. But we don't want to wait another moment to be married. Tattoo has a wonderful idea about opening an art gallery where he can sell his paintings, and maybe those of other artists who are just starting out once it gets up and running. Mr. Roarke's performing the ceremony, and we've even arranged to have Tattoo's cousin Hugo flown out here so he can be the best man."  
  
Leslie focused on Tattoo and slowly grinned. "So Mr. Roarke and I finally get to meet the famous cousin Hugo," she said. "Does Mr. Roarke know about this?"  
  
"It could have been worse," Tattoo said. "My only other choice was Chester the Chimp." Amid the groans from Solange and Leslie, he grinned broadly. "Come on, let's go talk to Julie and see if she's any good with French recipes." 


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- May 9-13, 1983  
  
The entire island seemed to be in a flurry of preparation for the wedding. Julie agreed to host the whole thing in the generous yard of the MacNabb home, so that she could run back and forth to the kitchen as needed. A wooden latticework arbor was built in the large side yard, and every flower shop on the island insisted on contributing to its decoration. Solange and Leslie were busy choosing and being fitted for dresses; guests shopped for wedding gifts; the _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ chose a reporter and photographer to cover the occasion; Roarke prepared the ceremonial words and quietly sent out word that he was in the market for a new assistant. On Wednesday Tattoo's oft-mentioned but never-before-seen cousin, Hugo, arrived from France on the late-morning charter plane.  
  
That in itself was something of an event, at least as far as Leslie was concerned. Hugo turned out to look absolutely nothing like his cousin. He was about five feet tall, so that he had to look up at everyone else just as Tattoo did; he had abundant blond hair and gray eyes, and there was a restless mien about him that suggested he was always on the lookout for some new get-rich-quick scheme. It turned out that Hugo did not speak one word of English, which meant that either Tattoo or Solange always had to play translator.  
  
"What does he think of your idea to open an art gallery, Tattoo?" Roarke inquired, driving the five of them back to Tattoo's cottage, where Hugo was going to stay. (Solange occupied a small bungalow.)  
  
Tattoo sighed. "He thinks I'm going to be a starving artist for the rest of my life," he said. He shot his cousin a quick derisive glance and, safe in the knowledge that Hugo had no clue what he was saying, added, "Shows what he knows. He's tried everything in the book to make a fortune overnight and nothing works, so I'm taking any advice he gives me with a grain of salt."  
  
"Only a grain? I think you better make that the entire salt shaker," Leslie observed, evoking laughter.  
  
Hugo asked a question in French -- no doubt wondering what had just been said -- and Tattoo gave him an innocent shrug, which made Roarke and Leslie smile at each other. That shrug said it all.  
  
§ § § -- May 14, 1983  
  
Leslie tried not to look at her watch again, but in vain. The wedding was to begin at precisely four o'clock, so that Tattoo and Solange would have time to stay at the reception for awhile before boarding the day's final outgoing charter plane. She was nearly sick with nerves, as well as dread of the happy couple's looming departure. It occurred to her that, once they were gone, she would probably never see them again, no matter how many promises they made to visit often and stay in frequent touch. Tattoo and Solange would settle into their married life together; Solange would be busy with the dance company, and Tattoo would need to devote all his energy to getting his art gallery off the ground. They weren't going to have time for much else, especially if they wanted time alone together. The realization was so depressing that her mind shied away from the thought, and she tried to focus on the upcoming ceremony.  
  
Under an enormous tent, Julie was still setting up the buffet, with Frida's help. All of Leslie's friends and their families were to be guests, and Solange's parents had already arrived and were now seated in the front. The reporter from the _Chronicle_ was randomly interviewing guests, and the photographer alternated between double-checking his supply of film and perusing the buffet with a ravenous gleam in his eyes.  
  
Julie's older sister, Delphine, had come too, with her husband Greg. Delphine was visibly pregnant and had told Leslie their baby was expected to arrive in mid-July. Julie, of course, had been ecstatic at the idea of becoming an aunt and had already bought a mountain of tiny baby outfits for her future niece or nephew. Leslie, remembering the story Julie had told her about the MacNabb family magic, realized Delphine wasn't yet 40, and grinned to herself at the thought that Greg was going to have his hands full once the baby was born, especially if Delphine hadn't prepared him in advance!  
  
From behind, Roarke's voice remarked suddenly, "You look anxious, Leslie."  
  
She started and then smiled at him sheepishly. "We're going to be on time, aren't we, Mr. Roarke?"  
  
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "I believe all the guests are here..." Then he glanced around and frowned. "Where is Hugo?"  
  
As if conjured, Hugo came around a stand of trees at the edge of the MacNabb property, leading a child by the hand. Roarke and Leslie both stared hard, squinting. No, wait, that was no child... "Oh no," Leslie groaned. "He's got Chester the Chimp with him!"  
  
Roarke closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. Taken separately, Chester and Hugo were daunting enough. Together, they would undoubtedly be formidable, in a particularly ominous way. He looked around and finally spied Tattoo approaching from the house, where he had just finished changing into his wedding tuxedo. "Tattoo," Roarke called.  
  
"Something wrong, boss?" Tattoo asked curiously, joining him and Leslie.  
  
Roarke gestured at the pair entering the yard, and Tattoo gaped in disbelief. "Where did that cousin of mine ever find that stupid monkey?" he demanded rhetorically. "I think I better have a talk with him."  
  
"I think so too," Roarke agreed darkly. "Good luck."  
  
"You'll probably need it," Leslie added, and blinked at the black look Tattoo shot at her before grinning at Roarke. Roarke only rolled his eyes, and with that went to take his place up front.  
  
Tattoo and Hugo had some fairly energetic words before Hugo finally appeared to give in, and led Chester over to the buffet, where he tied the chimp securely to one of the tent's anchor poles. Julie gave Hugo a very doubtful look, and Frida promptly took herself over to the other end of the tent. Hugo merely smiled at them and ambled over to where Leslie stood, waiting for Solange.  
  
"You're supposed to be down there," Leslie said, pointing down the aisle. Hugo peered at her blankly, and she rolled her own eyes. "You," she repeated, pointing at Hugo, "there." Again she pointed down the aisle. Hugo's face cleared and he smiled at her, then sauntered down the aisle to where Tattoo had joined Roarke. Both of them gave Hugo dark looks.  
  
"I hope," Solange murmured, "that this isn't an omen." Leslie turned to look at her, and Solange smiled a little crookedly. "They say every wedding has a glitch, and I saw Hugo walk in here with that chimpanzee. If something does go wrong, we already know who's to blame."  
  
Leslie laughed, easing the tension, and just then the processional started. "Oh my God, this is it," she whispered. "Oh Solange..."  
  
"It's okay," Solange reassured her. "Go on ahead, just the way we rehearsed it."  
  
For some time thereafter, the wedding itself was more or less a blank in Leslie's mind. Since she had only to stand nearby and hold the bride's flowers, her mind was free to roam; and it did so with a vengeance. She couldn't seem to get her train of thought away from the glaring fact that once the reception was over, the newlyweds and their families would be leaving Fantasy Island, perhaps for the very last time. Who, then, would be Roarke's assistant?  
  
Every word of the matrimonial ceremony that Roarke spoke brought Leslie closer to a new waterworks. She struggled valiantly to hide her emotions, but could manage no more than a sickly little smile. Fortunately for her, all eyes were on the bride and groom. However, Roarke, for all his careful attention to the ceremony, was fully aware of her and the emotions she was desperately damming up. He spared her barely a glance as he said warmly, "Now, by the power vested in me as chief magistrate of Fantasy Island, I pronounce you husband and wife." He smiled at Tattoo and said almost conspiratorially, "You may kiss the bride." Tattoo turned to Solange with a comical leer, and everyone laughed before she knelt and they shared the traditional first kiss as a married couple.  
  
When they pulled apart, a long cheer rose from everyone assembled, and people began to crowd around the newlyweds to offer raucous congratulations. For this Leslie was profoundly thankful, for she could no longer keep herself under control. She burst into tears, dropped the bouquet and fled blindly in the direction of the house. In some remote part of her mind, while she stumbled along searching for some relatively secluded corner in which to bawl, she was amazed at herself for this storm of grief, as if she were suffering the loss of her family all over again. She felt that, in a way, she was losing family. She couldn't help her runaway emotions, and didn't want to ruin everyone else's joy in the occasion by standing around crying endlessly.  
  
Near the long buffet table where the wedding cake towered in all its glory, Roarke found himself standing beside the newlyweds by pure coincidence. Solange caught his arm and exclaimed, "What a beautiful job you did, Mr. Roarke! I'm so glad we asked you to perform the ceremony for us. Thank you so much."  
  
Roarke smiled broadly. "You are very welcome, Solange. I wouldn't have dreamed of having anyone else do it." They might have said more, but at that point they were set upon all at once by Solange's parents, Hugo, and the _Chronicle_'s reporter and photographer, insisting upon shots of the wedding party. The photographer was munching ostentatiously on an _hors d'oeuvre_, his jaw moving up and down in rotating movements reminiscent of a cow's, and the reporter shot him a disgusted glance before repeating her request for a wedding-party portrait.  
  
"Just as a kind of souvenir to put in the paper?" she pleaded. "Mr. and Mrs. Tattoo; you, Mr. Roarke, the bride's parents, the groom's cousin, and of course your daughter, Mr. Roarke." Obviously fed up, she jabbed the photographer in the ribs with her elbow. "Drat it, Gordy, stop eating so you can take a proper picture. You look like Elsie the Cow having lunch."  
  
"Where is Leslie?" Tattoo asked then.  
  
Roarke, still nonplused at having Leslie referred to as his daughter, cleared his throat. "Leslie seems to have gone missing. Excuse me, please, I'll try to find her."  
  
It didn't take him long; shortly he spotted her huddled in a violently-rocking heap near a stand of rosebushes. Her long straight hair formed a neat, shining curtain around her face and arms as she sobbed. Roarke knelt beside her and gathered her into his embrace.  
  
"Leslie, child, why so much emotion?" he asked gently.  
  
She looked up, her face a mask of such agony that his own heart unexpectedly contracted. "Things'll never be the same," she choked out. "It's like losing a member of my family, and it was hard enough the first time." So saying, she broke down anew.  
  
Roarke realized at that moment precisely how close she and Tattoo had really been, and out of nowhere had an idea. It was only two more weeks till Leslie's graduation from high school, and he was certain the gift he had just decided to give her would be a welcome one. He let her cry for a few minutes, patting her back; then he slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was forced to meet his gaze.  
  
"Leslie, did you not realize that this has been Tattoo's fantasy?" he asked. "In my business, what else could I do but grant it to him?" He smiled, and was finally rewarded with a tiny, very watery return smile. "You are right, things won't be precisely the same. But never fear, Fantasy Island is not going to shut down simply because my trusted assistant is no longer working here. And I can assure you that Tattoo and Solange will always be in your heart, and you in theirs. Come along now, and give them the last gift of being in the wedding-party portrait."  
  
Leslie groaned and halfheartedly swiped at her tears. "Oh no. I just hope it's not in color."  
  
Roarke laughed and helped her to her feet. "Why don't you check quickly with Julie. She may be able to help you with a little makeup." He ushered her along in front of him, thinking of all that lay ahead in Tattoo's impending absence. 


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- May 16, 1983  
  
Chaos was the order of the day on Monday morning. Leslie, with only two weeks of school left, gained permission from Roarke to take the day off from school that day so that she could say a proper goodbye to Tattoo and Solange. Sunday had been spent packing and boxing things for later shipment to Paris once Tattoo and Solange found a place to live that would hold both of them and all the accumulated possessions of their single lives. As a parting gift, Tattoo had presented Roarke and Leslie each with two more of his paintings. Leslie, whose bedroom walls were adorned with the three he had already given her, decided to hang her two in a couple of the bungalows, so that a wider audience could get enjoyment from them.  
  
Tattoo and Solange were leaving on a later charter than that usually used by weekend fantasizers, since they had several pieces of luggage each and there were some other items going along with them. Not only that, but they were also traveling with Solange's parents and Hugo. "The plane'll never get out of the water," teased Julie, who had come along to say her own farewells.  
  
"Since Hugo hasn't shown up yet, we might leave without him," Solange remarked, "which would increase our chances of getting into the air. Tattoo, _mon chér_, is he always late?"  
  
_"Mais oui,"_ Tattoo confirmed testily. "For everything."  
  
At quite the last moment, Hugo hove into view, tugging something along with him and lugging an enormous suitcase that looked old enough to have accompanied a passenger on the _Titanic_. "There he is," Julie said and gestured in his direction.  
  
"Good Lord," Leslie blurted. "He's got Chester with him. What's with him, has he fallen in love with that chimp, or what?" Sure enough, she was proven correct when Hugo came abreast of the little group and beamed at them all, aiming a lengthy Gallic narrative at Solange and Tattoo. Within seconds Tattoo was rolling his eyes and shaking his head, and Solange was giggling behind her hand.  
  
"What's he saying, Tattoo?" Julie asked.  
  
"He wants to take Chester home with him," Tattoo said disgustedly. "Maybe you were right, Leslie. He's crazy about Chester. Do you realize how far it is from here to Paris? And they're probably going to stop him at customs and quarantine that monkey for at least six months...if they let him into the country at all, that is." With a snort, Tattoo switched to French and told Hugo the same thing.  
  
Hugo merely shrugged and replied, and Solange giggled again. "Hugo plans to use all his charm on the customs officials," she reported. "He anticipates no trouble whatsoever. Either way, he's determined not to leave Fantasy Island without Chester. I wouldn't care if it weren't for the fact that we have the same flights with him all the way home."  
  
Roarke smiled. "Far be it from me to suggest that I would want you to suffer; but since Hugo is so enamored of Chester, I would be more than happy to let him take the chimpanzee." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm towards Hugo. "Hugo, you are more than welcome to Chester."  
  
"Thanks a lot, boss," Tattoo grumbled, and everyone laughed. Hugo shook hands with everyone and headed up the plane dock with Chester loping agreeably along in his wake. Halfway up the ramp, Chester turned around and favored them all with a farewell wave, then bared his teeth and grunted a few times before Hugo said something to him that made him turn back towards the plane.  
  
"I am afraid it's time for you to board," Roarke said gently.  
  
For a long moment Roarke and Tattoo regarded each other. They had been the best of friends for many years and had weathered many adventures and many strange and wonderful fantasies together. "I can't find words for what I'm feeling," Tattoo finally said, "not even in French. The best I can do is to say thank you, boss. Thank you for all the fabulous years I've been here and for being such a dear friend."  
  
Roarke smiled, his eyes glittering suspiciously. "Indeed, my friend, you have spoken my very thoughts. We will sorely miss you around here." He shifted his attention to the pretty young woman beside Tattoo. "Solange, take care of him for us, and make sure he writes."  
  
"I'll do that, Mr. Roarke, I promise," Solange said.  
  
"You better write," Leslie agreed in a shaky voice, and they all turned to her. "I just wish you could stay here to see my graduation." Her voice gave out and she started to cry again; both Tattoo and Solange came to her and hugged her. Words seemed inadequate, so they simply held their embrace until Leslie got a little control of herself. They then bid Julie farewell, and slowly crossed the verdant clearing to the ramp. It seemed that every few feet they had to stop and wave again, but at last they were aboard and the plane was taxiing through the lagoon preparatory to takeoff.  
  
Julie sighed. "It doesn't seem possible," she remarked wistfully, watching as the plane climbed into the sunny morning sky. "Tattoo was a fixture around here and it's really weird to realize he's gone now. I mean, I don't ever remember you having another assistant, uncle."  
  
"I th-thought he'd always be here," Leslie mumbled morosely. Roarke slid an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.  
  
"I know he meant a great deal to you too, Leslie," he said gently. "And it will take some time to adjust to his absence. But, since you are so close to completing your compulsory schooling now, I daresay you will be taking on many of the duties Tattoo had. And Julie, I will need your help until I can hire a new assistant."  
  
"Any candidates yet?" Julie asked with interest.  
  
Roarke chuckled wryly. "As a matter of fact, I have been flooded with résumés and applications," he said, making both Leslie and Julie stare at him in surprise. "I put out the word only two days ago, and only in the _Fantasy Island Chronicle_ want ads; yet it appears that word has spread at warp speed to every newspaper in existence, and I have heard from would-be assistants from literally around the world."  
  
"Well, then, that should make things interesting," Julie said, grinning. "If you ask me, you should have Leslie help you wade through all that mail. She can help you choose a new assistant; after all, she's going to have to work with him -- or her -- if she's taking over some of the things Tattoo used to do."  
  
"An excellent suggestion, Julie," Roarke agreed. "What have you to say about it, Leslie?"  
  
She smiled wanly. "It might be fun," she said, and Roarke smiled back with understanding. For all their sakes, he hoped to find a suitable candidate soon, although no one could ever replace Tattoo.  
  
§ § § -- May 27, 1983  
  
One by one, the graduates of the Fantasy Island High School Class of 1983 responded to the call of their full names and accepted their diplomas. It had been a rather wild final week for the seniors; the usual pranks were played, yearbooks were issued and passed around and signed at great length, and graduation parties were enthusiastically planned. The teachers, recognizing that the last week was essentially a loss, made little if any attempt to actually teach classes, although the students were required to be in their classrooms in order to be certain they officially graduated without penalty.  
  
Of the seven girls who comprised the "crowd" Roarke had seen so much of in the last three years, Leslie was first alphabetically; so it was she who responded when "Leslie Susan Hamilton!" rang out across the crowd of parents and other relatives attending the graduation ceremony. The graduates numbered a bit fewer than 100, so the whole procession was done within an hour, and by three that afternoon Leslie and Roarke were back at the main house decorating the flagstone patio for the party Leslie wanted to give. She and her friends had decided that they might as well celebrate together, and there would be quite a few parents and siblings in attendance as well as the graduates themselves.  
  
"I know you have been looking forward to receiving that diploma for a long time," Roarke teased Leslie while they were setting up tables and chairs. Mariki was already cooking up a storm in the kitchen, and tantalizing smells wafted through the French doors as they worked. "So how does it feel to finally have it?"  
  
"Kind of hard to believe," Leslie admitted with a grin. "But in some odd way I feel legitimate now. I mean, it always seemed as if I was just this little junior apprentice, like a little kid wanting to do the same things his parents were doing and not being allowed yet. Now I feel like I'm old enough to do all that, now that I know I don't have to worry about school anymore and I can give you a lot more help with the fantasies."  
  
"So you can," said Roarke. "And you and Julie have been doing a wonderful job so far. It truly amazes me how many thoroughly inappropriate people have applied for Tattoo's position."  
  
"Well, everybody wants to live on Fantasy Island, don't they?" Leslie asked and snickered when Roarke sighed. "Let's face it, Mr. Roarke, you'll just have to accept the fact that your island is the most popular place in the world for a vacation."  
  
"And, pray tell, when do _I_ get a vacation?" Roarke shot back, astounding Leslie so completely that the look on her face made him burst into laughter. "I am only teasing you! Does it worry you so much that I might suddenly decide to shut down my operation?"  
  
"Well, you did scare me for a minute there," Leslie admitted, and they both laughed.  
  
Three hours later the party was in full swing. Julie, who had accompanied Frida, insisted on helping Mariki with the food, no matter how much Roarke's cook protested; and between the two of them, no one went hungry. Every so often, the party would pause long enough for one of the girls to receive a graduation gift. Roarke deliberately waited till last before stepping forward with his gift to Leslie, by which time it was approaching nine o'clock and everyone was already beginning to show signs of fatigue from the long and exciting day.  
  
"Leslie," Roarke began, "I have been thinking about this for a little while now, ever since a request someone made of me recently. I considered the idea at great length, and perhaps at the cost of some sleep --" this was greeted with laughter -- "and I decided at last to go ahead with it. I have never done this before, which made the decision all the more difficult. But you are certainly worth it, young lady." He went to his desk, just inside the open French doors, opened a drawer and extracted a plain manila folder. "Here you are." He handed the folder to Leslie, who stared mystified at him for a moment before opening the folder and reading the paper that lay within.  
  
Roarke watched her eyes grow enormous as she read, and it was plain that she was skimming the document as rapidly as she possibly could before looking up at him with disbelief in her eyes. "Mr. Roarke..." she breathed. "This is...oh my God...do you really want to adopt me??"  
  
Roarke and Leslie heard, but ignored, the reaction from the other partygoers. Roarke smiled and nodded. "Indeed I do. You've been a delight to have around, Leslie Susan, and I can think of nothing I would like better than to make you officially my daughter. The document is legal and binding, and it awaits only your signature -- if, indeed, you are willing." He looked up and admitted to the group at large, "When Tattoo was married a couple of weeks ago, the reporter from the newspaper requested that a group portrait of the wedding party be taken of, quote, 'Mr. and Mrs. Tattoo, the bride's parents, the groom's cousin, myself, and my daughter.' It was that remark that inspired me to take this step, and all that is lacking is Leslie's consent."  
  
Leslie finally recovered enough from her overwhelmed amazement to lunge forward and throw her arms around her guardian. "Oh Mr. Roarke...I'd be honored," she choked out around the lump in her throat, and squeezed him hard for a long moment before stepping back and looking around at the others. "I've finally got a family again, and this makes it official. Anybody got a pen?"  
  
Laughter broke out and half a dozen pens were offered to her, but the one she accepted turned out to belong to Roarke. It seemed only fitting that she use his pen to sign the document that made her officially his daughter. 


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- August 9, 1983  
  
On a balmy Tuesday evening late in the summer, Roarke and Leslie found themselves going through the endless applications for the position of assistant, as they had been doing for the last three months or so. By now it was an exercise in boredom and discouragement; Leslie suspected it wouldn't be long before they came to dread it outright. Not one person seemed quite right for the job somehow.  
  
Then Roarke extracted a pale-pink envelope and ripped it open, only to find that the letter was from Delphine. When he finished reading it, he sat back and turned to his daughter with a broad smile. "It looks as if we may soon get a break from the endless streams of applications," he said.  
  
Leslie looked up hopefully. "Really? How do you figure?"  
  
"This letter comes from Delphine," Roarke said and proceeded to read from it. "'I think I might have the answer to your problem, uncle. Mother's eccentric elderly cousin, who lived in England for some fifty years, died about a month ago and left behind a fair-sized estate. She also threw about a dozen servants out of work as a result.' " Leslie laughed at that. "'One of them,' " Roarke continued reading, "'wrote to me inquiring about work requirements in the United States, with the idea that I could use some help around the house now that I've got little Thomas to take care of. He was Cousin Moira's butler, and his name is Lawrence Cornwell- McKinnie. Needless to say, I don't have much use for a butler, but I did remember that you've been looking for an assistant for some time. I think he'd fit the bill, seeing as how Cousin Moira was a MacNabb by birth. It was my understanding that she was kind of senile toward the end, and if Lawrence is your typical English butler, then Fantasy Island ought to be a piece of cake for him after what he probably saw at Moira's manor.' " Roarke set down Delphine's letter, chuckling.  
  
Leslie giggled too. "Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie, huh?" she tried out the name. "Sounds veddy British to me. But I can see why Delphine would think he'd be a good candidate, after hearing her letter."  
  
"I agree," Roarke said. "Delphine provides Mr. Cornwell-McKinnie's address as a postscript. I will write to him, and if he seems agreeable, then I will have a new assistant."  
  
Thus it was that on Saturday morning, the tenth of September 1983, the new member of their "staff" arrived on Fantasy Island. Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie was a little taller than Roarke and a bit heavyset, with thinning dark hair. He was also as British as they came and intimidated Leslie right from the beginning, making her feel as if she had regressed to the frightened fifteen-year-old who had first come to the island. He first set foot on the island dressed to the nines, all the way from bowler hat to gleaming black shoes. He and Roarke shook hands in grave fashion and greeted each other rather formally before Lawrence then turned to Leslie. "Good day, young lady," he said and tipped his hat, sketching her a bow. She blinked.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Mr. ...uh, sir," she murmured shyly.  
  
"You may call me Lawrence," the new arrival said graciously. "I do realize that my full name can be rather a mouthful."  
  
"Thank you," mumbled Leslie, still overwhelmed. Unaccustomed to such heavy-handed formality, she found herself missing Tattoo badly for the first time in many weeks.  
  
"Leslie Hamilton is my eighteen-year-old daughter," Roarke explained to Lawrence. "I formally adopted her just three months ago upon her graduation from high school. She is a great help to me in the absence of my former assistant, and even before he left she was carrying out a number of tasks for me."  
  
Lawrence looked confused, which relieved Leslie, oddly enough. It made him seem more human somehow. "I was under the impression, sir, that you were in need of an assistant."  
  
"Indeed so," said Roarke, ever patient. "Leslie is something of a secondary assistant and has always been an invaluable help; however, I need someone with me full-time, as she is still quite young and inexperienced." Leslie winced, perceiving these words as a stigma of sorts. "Shall we go on to the main house?"  
  
Once they had arrived there they found Mariki cleaning the study. "Would you be so kind as to bring some refreshments, if indeed you care for any, Lawrence?" Roarke inquired.  
  
"I should be delighted in a cup of tea, thank you very much," said Lawrence cheerfully.  
  
Presently Mariki returned with a tray bearing a teapot and two cups, along with a glass of lemonade for Leslie. Still shy, she retreated to what used to be Tattoo's accustomed spot beside Roarke's desk, eager in spite of her shyness and apprehension to hear Lawrence's story. Roarke settled his teacup into its saucer and prompted, "I understand that you worked for Moira Dobson for twenty-two years."  
  
"Indeed I did," Lawrence replied. "She was an excellent employer, Mr. Roarke. She grew rather dotty toward the end of her life. She was a MacNabb by birth, as you undoubtedly know, and the late Mr. Dobson never quite adjusted to those powers she inherited." Lawrence chuckled suddenly at some memory.  
  
"How did you and the other staff react?" Roarke asked.  
  
"Oh, I must say, Mr. Roarke, I was a touch befuddled at first." Lawrence grinned quite broadly, and Leslie began to think she might come to like this guy after all. "Mrs. Dobson was always just a bit daft and quite absent-minded to boot, but that's what made her such a delight to work for. I got a thorough initiation on my very first day of employment with her when she levitated a tea tray directly into my hands, before anyone had had a chance to explain the provenance of her abilities to me. I was never quite so startled in all my born days, but I soon grew accustomed to her eccentricities. We all did. Her staff remained with her for a great many years, and we shall all miss her dearly."  
  
"I see," Roarke said, amused. "I trust in that case that you have a fair idea of what you should expect in the course of your employment here on the island. As the cliché goes, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."  
  
"Quite so, sir," Lawrence said confidently. "I expect to have no trouble at all."  
  
"Very well, then." Roarke rose from his chair and offered his hand to Lawrence, who reached out and shook it. "Welcome to Fantasy Island, Lawrence. Leslie will show you the cottage you are to live in, and you may take the weekend to settle in before you begin your duties."  
  
"Thank you, sir. I expect I shall be very happy in my stay here." Lawrence finished his tea, placed the cup carefully on the tray Mariki had left behind, and departed the main house. Leslie, following along, halted for a moment and looked at Roarke.  
  
"I thought we'd never see this day," she remarked.  
  
Roarke chuckled. "Neither did I. It would appear, though, that I have just acquired a butler." Leslie giggled and left the house to show Lawrence where Tattoo's old cottage was. She would always miss Tattoo, but she was looking forward to seeing what Lawrence's tenure as Roarke's assistant would bring.  
  
THE END 


End file.
